She's Not Hayley
by Lenni George
Summary: Take a walk through the dating life of Aaron Hotchner. This story is now complete. Please stay tuned for the further adventures of Hotch and Carrie - coming soon to a new series!
1. Corinne

She wasn't Hayley. He knew that. Her name was Corinne and she told him that she was a pharmaceutical rep from New York. Not that it mattered. They didn't talk about pharmaceuticals anymore than they talked about profiling, they didn't really talk about much at all.

From the moment she sat down next to him at the bar and ordered a glass of Merlot, they began a mating dance that although subtle was shameless in its intent. Bar pick ups were not Aaron Hotchner's style. He never was a lounge lizard, never did have fancy lines on the tip of his tongue. Despite the years that he'd watched David Rossi in action, not one iota of it had rubbed off on him.

But tonight, it didn't seem to matter. Corinne liked his awkward attempts at flirting. She complimented his voice and the way he wore his suit. She said he looked like a decent, upstanding guy and once he admitted that he worked for the FBI, she told him she knew her decision was correct. Of course, he had to pull out his id and allow her to scrutinize it in order for her to truly believe him. Something about that fact made him realize that she wasn't a stupid woman. Or at least that she had a good sense of self preservation.

She was, he discovered, a lot of things. But she wasn't Hayley. She looked enough like Hayley that, from a distance, someone could mistake them. He guessed he had a type and that was the type he went for, but he hadn't exactly been out looking for anyone, so how could he say he had a type?

As the evening passed, they talked about their childhoods, they talked about their children. Corinne had two sons, ages 11 and 9, who were home with their father, her ex husband. Another thing they had in common, both had watched marriages fall apart and were now living with the damage left behind by those broken vows.

She claimed to have dated a bit, but not too much. She said her skills were rusty, but he assured her, she was doing just fine. She smiled at him and a faint hint of blush crept across her cheeks. He found that refreshing and told her so. She dismissed it with a laugh and turned the conversation away from herself.

She did that quite frequently during the course of the night, something that would have raised a flag for him, had his mind not been clouded by alcohol and desire. Both of which he tried to keep in check, but failed miserably.

When midnight arrived, she stood to leave. They were both staying at the hotel, he on the fourth floor, she on the fifth. He offered to escort her to her room, but wondered on whose behalf he created that ruse. They both knew where things were going. Once they were alone in the elevator, they stepped together. He couldn't remember who made the first move although it really didn't matter, because by the time they reached the fourth floor, the were a tangle of arms, hands, lips, and tongues.

They separated only long enough to reach his room. Once the door was shut and locked behind them, they were on each other, clothing discarded without care as they made their way to the bed.

She wasn't Hayley; this fact was brought home as they writhed on the pure white hotel sheets. Her muscles were more toned her breasts smaller, her legs longer. Sure, her body responded to his touch, but with a heat and passion that he hadn't felt from Hayley for a long time.

He nearly called her by Hayley's name, in the midst of the passion, but bit it back, wrapping his lips around a taut nipple to keep from saying anything more. If she'd noticed his near slip, she didn't show it.

He would have liked to say he made love to her, but he didn't. No, it was sex, pure, raw, need driven sex and neither of them made any apologies for it. When they reached their end, barely moments apart, they each cried out, and then collapsed on the bed. Lying next to each other, not touching, just trying to catch their breath.

As they lay, exhaustion set in, pulling him deep into a deep, dream filled sleep. He dreamed of Hayley in happier times. Of their days in school, of the early days of their marriage, of the good times.

When he awoke, he was alone in bed. Sitting up slowly and fighting the throbbing head ache of a hangover, he realized that Corinne left sometime during the night. Looking around the room, he found that she'd taken all of her things and gone. The only proof that he could find that she'd even been in the room was the condom in the trashcan and the lipstick trace on the pillow case.

She'd left, without a word. And, he decided, that despite all of his earlier protests, she was like Hayley after all.


	2. Anya

She wasn't Hayley. Aaron Hotchner knew this much going into it. What he didn't know was why he actually let Emily Prentiss set him up on a blind date. He should have known better, but still, he went along.

Her name was Anya and she worked at the Croatian Embassy. She was a stunningly beautiful brunette and he found her accent strangely hypnotizing.

They'd met in the lobby of Citronelle, the uber pricey, uber trendy restaurant that Emily suggested. Apparently, Emily wanted him to make a good impression on Anya, as she even made suggestions on which suit he should wear.

Anya had apparently eaten there before as both the maitre d and the chef came out to their table to speak to her. She took it in stride, as if it happened to her daily, leaving Hotch to wonder how many other men took her there. He knew she didn't go there on her own, her salary wouldn't allow her to continually order the $85 Kobe beef sate that she announced was her favorite and what she always ordered.

After a couple of glasses of chardonnay, her polished, professional exterior gave way to what Hotch assumed was the true Anya. She continued to be intelligent and witty, but she became more relaxed and definitely more flirtatious but she still wasn't Hayley. Her flirting seemed planned, contrived, purpose driven, practiced. Instead of turning him on, he found it made him wary. Yet, he continued to play along. After all, Emily wouldn't have set him up with this woman if she didn't see something he would like, right?

He assumed that dinner went well, after all, she asked him to go dancing with her afterwards. He wasn't much of a dancer, but there were those dance lessons that Hayley had made him take before their wedding. He was sure he could recall enough to waltz and tango effectively.

She took him to Luxe Lounge, DC's hottest night spot. It was crowded, loud, and the flashing lights were enough to drive one into seizures. Hotch felt like a fish out of water, Anya, however, jumped right in with the rest of the school and swam like a champ.

He tried, really tried, to make his body move to the repetitive beat of the dance music. He tried to make himself look like he actually belonged there, but he failed miserably. The cigarette smoke coupled with the way too loud music gave him a headache about twenty minutes into the night.

Still he plunged on, suggesting they move to the bar to get a drink. She ordered an apple martini; he got a bottle of water. She frowned at this, encouraging him to continue drinking, telling him that the night was still young and that she knew of a great after hours club.

It was at that point he decided that not only wasn't she anything like Hayley, she was the "anti Hayley". Something that, somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thought might be just the ticket. But not this "anti Hayley." No, this one would either bankrupt him with her expensive taste or kill him with her lifestyle.

Excusing himself to try to find the men's room, he made up his mind to tactfully end the evening and escort "anti Hayley" to her car. When he returned five minutes later, she was chatting with an older gentleman in a very well cut suit. Not one for fashion, even Hotch could tell that the man's suit probably cost about a week's pay.

Apparently, he mused, Anya had found greener pastures. He knew he should have been pissed on some level. After all, his seat hadn't even gotten cold and she'd moved on to a bigger catch. But he wasn't pissed. This poor sap, who ever he was, was doing him a huge favor.

Out of respect for Anya's relationship with Prentiss, he returned to the bar to say goodbye. To her credit, Anya pretended to be disappointed that they didn't hit it off. She pecked his cheek and wished him well, then turned back to her new friend, leaving Hotch standing there, paying for their round of drinks.

It wasn't until he got into the car and started the engine that the evening's effects hit him. He sat, staring at the steering wheel and wondering what in the hell he thought he was doing. What made him thought that he could find another woman who could be what Hayley was and mean what she meant to him? Or, his rational mind reasoned, what other woman could live up to what he had built Hayley up to be?

Was she the woman that his mind wanted her to be? Could any woman live up to that standard? And if she could, would he want her? After all, things didn't end well with Hayley. What would make him think they'd end any differently with a woman just like her?

Maybe, he thought, he really should be looking for the "anti Hayley", although, not one quite like Anya. Maybe, he should stop trying to replace her with her clone and look for a woman who was her opposite. That might work. But then again, it was no guarantee.

With an uncharacteristic sigh, something he was glad no one observed, he shook his head and said aloud, "What the fuck are you doing, Hotchner?" Catching his own reflection in the rearview, he studied it. "You're pathetic, you know that? She's gotten over you. You need to move on and stop acting like some sort of lame ass sap."

He was surprised to find his reflection glaring back at him and laughed at himself. Putting the car into reverse, he backed out of the parking space and made his way home, deciding that a shower and sleep would be a great way to end this debacle.

Then, tomorrow morning, over his coffee, he'd be placing a call to Emily Prentiss and asking her politely to never again attempt to find him a blind date.


	3. Lyndsi, with an I

She wasn't Hayley. She could've been, 18 years ago. Her name was Lyndsi, with an "I" and, Hotch supposed, she could have been any guy's fantasy. A Washington Redskin's cheerleader, Lyndsi was cute, perky, blonde, and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. Of course, he never understood who decided that brick shithouses were a good description of a well developed body.

They'd met at Jack's t ball tournament. The cheerleaders were there to present the trophies at the end of the tournament and while they were waiting for Jack's team to be called, she seemed to have homed right in on Hotch and struck up a conversation.

She was very bright, very personable, and seemed to find him very attractive. Truth was, she reminded him of Hayley when they met in high school. He recalled the day they met, after a football game when she was still in her uniform, still in full cheer mode. Just like Lyndsi at Jack's tournament.

When he took a chance and suggested they get dinner one night, she wrote her name and phone number on the tournament program, signing her name with a heart over the "I". In hindsight, that probably should have told him something. But, it didn't, not at the time.

He wasn't going to call her, just the fact that she was interested enough to give him her phone number was a total ego boost. But once, he opened his mouth and told Morgan over coffee on Monday morning, his fate was sealed. He had to call her or Morgan would never let him live it down.

She seemed happy to hear from him and when he suggested dinner, she jumped at the chance. He asked her what her favorite restaurant was and she told him she loved to hang out at the Penn Quarter Sports Tavern. She promised him he'd love it and they agreed to meet after work.

He showed up after work in his suit and tie, seriously over dressed for a sports bar. Lyndsi was wearing a pair of painted on jeans and a hot pink t shirt that clung to every inch of her very firm, probably surgically enhanced 40 C's. It was all he could do not to stare, but he wasn't sure if he was being restrained for her behalf or his own.

Dinner consisted of burgers and beer, lots of beer. More beer than he'd have ever believed a woman of her size could put away. Yet she did, and she held it well. Their date was light, relaxing, and fun. Kinda like when he first started dating Hayley and they'd go to the bowling alley or to the pizza place near school.

While the Orioles game played on most of the countless televisions mounted around the room, they played a game of pool that he won easily, despite her serious flirtation that nearly drove him to distraction numerous times.

By the time they finished the game; she'd glued herself to his side and was putting some serious moves on him. He found himself responding, physically, at least. Mentally, he was in shock that she was so into him.

He'd even told her this at one point, but she dismissed it. She told him that he was smart, had a "kick ass cool job", and was "totally hot." He decided that these were all positive things and told her that he found her beautiful.

She seemed touched by his compliment and proceeded to lean in and kiss him. It was a surprisingly deep kiss and after getting over his shock, he pulled her into his arms and returned the kiss.

She told him that she loved the way he kissed and asked if they could do it again. Of course, he didn't say no, after all, any normal healthy man would be a fool to turn down a good looking woman who was throwing herself at him. And throw she did. After a few more minutes of kissing, she asked him to leave the bar with her.

Allowing testosterone to control his brain, he followed her outside to find that the sun had set and the night was clear and warm. He took her hand, intending to lead her back to their cars, but instead, she led him into the small alley near the parking lot.

She kissed him again, allowing him to back her against the wall. As his hands traveled down to cup her tight denim wrapped ass, her hands were busy starting trouble of their own.

Between kisses, she breathlessly told him that she wanted him. There. At that moment. In the alley. The danger, she said, turned her on. That normal, healthy male part of him wanted to oblige her and take her right there, against the red brick wall of the building. But Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner was not a man who did things like that. No, he was a gentleman and as tempting as it might have been, he couldn't nail her out in the alley like that.

He told her this, told her that she deserved better and managed to talk her into his car. His plan was to drive to a nearby hotel. This, he decided, would be better than the alley, with the dumpsters and rats. He promised her that he could turn her on in the hotel just as much as in the alley.

Apparently, she didn't believe him, because the second they were in the car, she was on him, climbing over the shifter to straddle his lap. As they kissed, she ground against him, challenging his body to over rule his brain.

He tried to talk her out of it, but, damn she was persuasive. He told her they could get caught. She didn't care. His car was way in the back of the lot and no one would see, she explained, as she removed her top. She smiled down at him and said, "Do you want me, Aaron?"

He'd heard those words in his car before, from another cheerleader, back in high school. Memories of Hayley in the back of his '78 Monte Carlo filled his brain and he forced them back, trying to focus on the woman who was quickly removing her clothing.

He wasn't sure if it was the beer, Lyndsi, or the memories of his '78 Monte Carlo, but something flipped a switch in him and he decided to give her exactly what she wanted.

It had been years, but Aaron Hotchner still knew how to work around the shifter and the steering wheel, and how to use reclining front bucket seats to his best advantage. It didn't take long for him to have "Lyndsi with an I" squealing with pleasure.

When it was over, she quickly slipped on her clothing and giving him a sultry kiss, asked him to call her again, before saying good night and leaving him alone and spent, in the front seat of his car.

She wasn't Hayley, although, as he made love to her, his mind tried to believe she was. He thought it some how unfair to Lyndsi that he had done it, but then again, he wasn't sure she would have cared.

He supposed that he'd just lived one hell of a fantasy. No strings attached sex with a Redskins Cheerleader, after a night of beer and pool? Without hesitation, he could name ten men who would give up a major organ for a night like this. But why, he wondered, didn't he feel better about it?

Why, he wondered, did the night leave him feeling empty and more alone than he did before? He knew the answer. It was the same every time. She wasn't Hayley.


	4. Carrie

She wasn't Hayley. But her voice had filled his lonely apartment more than Hayley's had in the past few months. Of course, it had done that through the speakers of his television, which, except for an Orioles or Redskins game, was perpetually tuned to CNN.

Her name was Caroline Hendricks and she was a CNN correspondent. Since the first days after 9/11, her soft Southern accent and her inquisitive dark blue eyes had become a brief respite from the news about the attacks and the military actions that followed them.

He supposed he could be classified as a "fan", although he never declared himself as such. Not even when he met her in Dallas at the Law Enforcement Terrorism Education Symposium.

He and David Rossi had just finished a lecture on the profile of a terrorist when she approached them. Apparently, Rossi had known her for years, referring to her as "Carrie". When he introduced her, Hotch couldn't help but notice just how beautiful she really was.

She stood about 5'7" and, he was happy to discover, beneath the severe suits and fatigues she wore on CNN, she had one hell of a great figure. Her dark brown hair, which on camera, was held back in a bun or a tight pony tail, flowed in soft waves to her shoulders. She was, he decided, much better looking in person.

They hit it off right away and she accompanied them to dinner that evening. Rossi treated, taking them to the Dakota Steakhouse. They dined on amazing filets, sipped some fine scotch, and swapped stories of their adventures.

Looking back at it, he had to admit that the sexual attraction was there from the moment they met, but as the night went on, it became more than just a physical reaction. Although, the physical part was very strong and it increased exponentially as the night went on.

After dinner, they returned to the hotel, deciding to share another drink in the lobby bar. When Carrie excused herself to the bathroom, Rossi made mention of the "mating game" he'd been gleefully watching all evening. He went on to admit that he'd thought of bedding her himself, many times. But Carrie, it seemed, thought of him only as an old, dear, friend.

Hotch downplayed the attraction, but knew the seasoned profiler saw right through his façade.

Once Carrie returned, Rossi finished his drink and excused himself for the evening, leaving them alone. They laughed over his abrupt departure; both admitting that he'd picked up on their attraction. They continued flirting, laughing and talking until they finished their drinks and then, she invited him to her room.

Her invitation took him off guard in its honesty. She'd smiled and said, "Dave's right. I'm very attracted to you and I believe that you're attracted to me as well. This might sound dramatic, but with our jobs, we need to take advantage of the situations we're given." She took his hand in hers and asked, "Come back to my room with me?"

He leaned towards her and gave her a gentle kiss before accepting her invitation, then stood and held out his hand. Standing, she took his hand and they walked from the bar.

XXXXX

To his surprise, there was no awkwardness, just a sexy, playful interchange that lead to some surprisingly intense love making. And they did just that, made love. He hadn't made love to a woman since Hayley, sure he'd had sex, but he hadn't made love and he knew the difference.

So did Carrie and as they lay together, holding each other, she admitted to him that it scared her that it had been that way. He admitted that he'd been surprised, but not scared, and then, in a move that surprised him, he told her he hoped that this wasn't going to be a one night stand.

Carrie laughed and reminded him that they had four more nights in Dallas and that she would be perfectly content to repeat their recent performance as many of those nights as they could. She then ended the conversation with a deep, sensuous kiss that caused him to stir back into arousal.

All thoughts of anything beyond that night left his head as she kissed her way down his chest, to his stomach, and then took him into her mouth.

XXXXX

The rest of the week went by quickly. His days were filled with lectures and round table discussions and his nights were filled by Carrie. They'd have dinner with Rossi and other presenters from the Symposium, and then make their way back to one of their rooms, where they'd stay til morning.

He'd learned a lot about her in the time they spent alone. He learned she had a dry sense of humor and an infectious laugh to go with it. He learned that she was ticklish on her inner thighs; he learned that she had a tattoo of a fleur de lis with the words "vivant sans peur" in ornate script below it on her right hip. The words were French for "live without fear" and she, her father, and her twin brother all got the same tattoo shortly after hurricane Katrina nearly destroyed their home in the New Orleans Garden District.

She might have been a calm, cool, collected fixture on his television screen, but his favorite image of her had nothing to do with a severe pony tail and fatigues. No, he preferred to picture her above him, her hair hanging like a soft curtain around them, her dark blue eyes boring into his or when she woke in the morning, with a smile on her face that he knew he had everything to do with.

When he was alone with his thoughts, he tried to talk himself out of his feelings for her. It was too soon, it was just sex, it would never work. He warred with himself throwing all of the reasons he could imagine. It didn't work.

By the end of the Symposium, he knew he wanted to spend more time with her. She was based out of DC and had a place in Georgetown. She was close enough that a relationship would logistically work. If only he could get her to discuss it.

She'd been quite adept at changing the subject whenever it popped up. That threw a definite caution flag in his path and another item for him to mull over when they were apart. But when they were together, he had no doubt of her feelings towards him and he put aside that nagging issue.

After their last lecture ended at 5 on Friday, they had dinner with Rossi, as they'd done every other night. However, on Friday night, Rossi ducked out very early with a wink and a promise to meet them both in the morning and share a cab to the airport for their flight home.

They took their time walking back to the hotel in the crisp late fall evening. He assumed that they looked very much the part of a couple in love as they strolled, hand in hand along the crowded street.

Months later, when she pressed him, he admitted that he had fallen in love with her by that point. But that night, he wasn't thinking about love. He was thinking about their last night together and whether or not he could talk her into seeing him again when they returned to DC.

They strolled into the hotel across the lobby and into a waiting elevator. As the doors shut, she leaned against the mirrored wall and looked at him. "I have an idea," she began, with an impish smile.

Taking her into his arms, he smiled at her, "And what would that idea be?"

"Let's stay until Sunday," she said, slipping her arms around his neck, "We can keep my room, change our flights…"

"I'm not sure we'll be able to change our flights this late," he cautioned.

"I checked on-line before dinner," she winked, "There's a 4 pm flight to DC with two seats on it. Come on, Aaron…just one more night. We can spend the day together tomorrow. Have a nice dinner," she kissed him. "Then spend the night back here…"

"You make it hard to say no," he replied, with a deep kiss. "But, why not fly home and pick this up back in DC?"

She shook her head, "I fly out Monday," she quietly said, "Two months "in country" with the Marine Combat Intellgence Batallion."

"Which is why you've avoided discussing going home," he knowingly said.

She nodded, "I've enjoyed this time with you, Aaron and I would love to keep seeing you. But, I won't be home for a while. I can't start something like this…"

He silenced her with a kiss, and then pulled back slowly, "I believe, Ms. Hendricks, that you're as attracted to me as I am to you."

"I am," she smiled.

"Then why not just pick this up when you get back?"

"If it were only that easy," she sighed, stepping out of his embrace. "Things change in two months, Aaron. I don't want to ask you to wait for me. It wouldn't be fair."

"What if I told you I don't mind waiting?" he asked, as the elevator doors opened.

"I've heard that before," she said, walking past him into the hallway.

He followed her to her room, "Carrie…"

She shook her head, slipping the key card into the lock and pushing the door open.

As they walked into the room he took her by the arm and turned her to face him, "Talk to me."

"Relationships just don't work out for me. I meet a guy, it's great, and then I go away for a few months. When I come back, I find that he's moved on. Sure, he promises to keep in touch and maybe he does for a while, but the first time I don't email back for a couple of days, he thinks I've moved on." She shrugged. "When in reality, I'm somewhere with no access to email."

He took her hands, "Weren't you the one who said we have to take advantage of the situations that life gives us?"

"And that's what we did," she replied.

He thought for a moment, wondering what to say to make her budge. Her posture said she was trying to be firm, strong, decisive, but her eyes gave away her true feelings. They showed her sadness, they showed regret. Most importantly, they showed that he had a chance of convincing her.

"Tell me," he began, "That you have no feelings for me. Tell me that this has been nothing more than sex. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that, I'll drop the subject."

She looked up at him, her eyes giving him the answer he hoped he'd get. "I can't."

"Then don't run from me," he softly said, watching as her façade crumbled. "I want to spend time with you, Carrie. I want you in my life. We can keep in touch while you're away."

"We can, but I can't tell you when I'm going out with the troops. I may just disappear. I can't even tell you where we are, the security is so tight…"

"I know," he nodded. "And I understand."

"But, if I disappear for two weeks…"

"I'll be concerned for your safety," he allowed, "But I won't think you're giving me the brush off."

"Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?" she asked, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

He returned that smile, "Probably not. But I know I can't walk away from you."

"I've been here before, Aaron. And it's never worked…" She warned, and then softened, "But I don't want to walk away from you, either."

"Then don't," he replied, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply.

She pulled back and studied him for a moment. Her eyes focused on his as if waiting for some sort of answer. "Are you going to stay with me for another day?"

"Is that the deal breaker?" he asked, trying levity.

"Yeah," she said with a sloe smile, "It is."

"I'll stay," he softly said, backing her to the bed.

No, she wasn't Hayley, but as he laid her back on the crisp white sheets, he was able to force Hayley from his mind for the first time in a long time. And that made him happy, for the first time in a long time.


	5. Charmaine

She wasn't Hayley. Truth be known, she was probably old enough to be Hayley's mother, and his as well, but he wasn't going to dwell on that.

Her name was Charmaine Greer and she was an actress. Well, not just "an actress". She was at her hey day back in the mid 80's, starring in a series of action movies where she was the gun toting, evil battling, heroine, Lacey Ray. Blonde, blue eyed, with a set of 40 C's that every outfit she wore seemed to emphasize, she was Aaron Hotchner's biggest star crush and the feature player in many an erotic dream during his late teens and early 20's.

When he met her in the terminal of Chicago O'Hare airport, he recognized her instantly. Despite her age, she still looked amazing. He'd been traveling alone. Having sent the team home on the BAU jet that morning, he stayed behind to clean up some paperwork, catching a commercial flight home in the evening. Of course, the weather was against him and a snow storm had blown in, delaying many flights.

As he waited for his flight, she settled in the seat next to him. Noticing that he was reading a novel about Abraham Lincoln, she struck up a conversation with him. As their conversation moved from the 16th president to traveling, Hotch was struck with the realization that he was speaking to a woman he'd fantasized over for years.

He played it cool, using his best BAU game face and as they chatted, he swore she was flirting with him. He assured himself that he was hallucinating, and kept the conversation going.

Nearly an hour later, they announced another delay to their flights. It was then that Charmaine invited him to join her in the hotel bar. He went along, deciding that having a drink with his fantasy was further than he'd ever imagined he'd get.

As they walked to the bar, he made a mental note to email Carrie when he got back to DC and tell her about his encounter. She'd get a kick out of the fact that he was star struck and he knew she'd never let him live it down.

She'd been gone for 6 weeks and during that time, they'd talked occasionally, when she could get an outgoing phone line, but mostly, they emailed. Their emails were filled with talk about their child hood, their college days, and usually what few details they could share about their day to day lives. To an outsider, their email exchanges were friendly, with some serious flirtation mixed in. They were getting to know each other more with each email and he felt that he knew her better in those 6 weeks than he knew most people in years.

It had been six days since he'd heard from her. He watched CNN when he could but there were no reports, not even a mention of her name. She'd warned him that this could happen, so he tried not to be too concerned. What he really couldn't shake was that during their last telephone conversation, out of the blue, she'd encouraged him to go out, and as she put it, make sure that he wasn't "neglecting his needs", because she knew she'd be "gone for a while".

They'd actually argued about it. She'd been insistent, almost challenging him to do it. Neither one of them would budge and when she had to hand over the phone to the soldier waiting behind her, she left with a rushed goodbye. That had been the last time he'd spoken to her.

Despite his promise that he wouldn't think she blew him off, he did question whether or not she was avoiding calling him.

XXXXX

Shortly before midnight, all flights were cancelled. Of course, by that time, he and Charmaine had downed quite a few drinks and neither one of them much cared about their flight. After placing a quick call to Rossi to let him know he'd be stuck in Chicago until tomorrow, Hotch accepted Charmaine's offer to stay for another drink.

After all, his alcohol influenced mind rationalized, Carrie had insisted that he see other women and not "neglect his needs". From the looks of things, she was going to get her wish. Forcing his mind from Carrie, he turned his attention back to Charmaine.

He wasn't sure at what point their playful flirtation turned into something more. It could have been when she placed her hand on his thigh, or when that hand slipped further over to where he strained against the zipper of his dress pants at the touch of her hand.

They may have crossed that line when he slipped his arm around the back of her chair and she leaned into him, close enough that he felt compelled to kiss her. Looking back, he chalked it up to the combination of the alcohol and his memories, but once he had kissed his former fantasy flame, he knew he had to have more.

And, to his surprise, she felt the same. She drove his tentative kiss into a full blown make out session at the bar, complete with roaming hands and tangling tongues. When his hand slipped beneath her skirt and made it all the way to the edge of her lace panties, she suggested that they get a room.

He went willingly, excited with the thought of bedding a woman who had been a major fixation for him and his friends. They checked in quickly, with him booking and paying for the room. Sure, he'd lucked into a suite, when the FBI would only pay for a double, but he'd worry about that later. Right now, he needed to secure some condoms and get Charmaine upstairs before they both changed their minds.

His quick stop in the hotel gift shop did nothing to slow her libido and once they were in the elevator, they were on each other like long lost lovers. He couldn't recall leaving the elevator and walking to his room, but he could recall the way they practically tore each other's clothes off, throwing them about the room without a care.

As they made their way to the bed, she flipped on the television, telling him she liked the dim flickering light. He didn't care; she could have turned on a set of stadium lights at that point and he wouldn't have noticed.

They fell to the bed, bodies tangled, hands roaming, lips melding together. As he touched her, he felt her body responding, heard her breathing quicken and finally, her voice, husky with desire commanded, "Aaron…please…I need you."

He nearly lost it when she said the words he'd imagined her saying oh so many times. With anxious hands, he tore open the small foil packet, and then removed the condom, quickly slipping it on. As he leaned over her, poised to enter her, a familiar voice came from the television, stopping him cold.

"This is Caroline Hendricks reporting for CNN. I'm deployed with the Marine Combat Intellgence Batallion. For protection of these men and women, I cannot reveal our exact location, but let me assure you that despite the miles of sand behind me, I am not in the Tropics…"

The haze of lust and alcohol lifted at the sound of her soft Louisiana accent and he snapped his head towards the television to see her.

"Aaron?" Charmaine said, "Darling, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, trying to focus on the very willing woman lying beneath him, He bent and kissed her, but his ears were trained to the television, listening to Carrie's voice and the gunfire that echoed close enough in the distance to draw his alarm. Concern and a strange guilt over whelmed him, causing him to pull back from Charmaine and sit on the bed. He watched as Carrie reported on the day's military events. She looked calm and poised, but he could see in her eyes and the way her hand gripped the microphone that the gunfire was unsettling to her as well.

Charmaine sat up, placing her hand on his shoulder, "Is everything okay?"

He turned to look at her, surprised to find a knowing look on her face.

"She's beautiful," she smiled at Carrie's image on the flat screen television "How long have you been with her?"

"How did you know?" he asked, watching as her smile grew sad.

"Darling, I've learned a lot about love and life," she went on, "And if the sound of her voice pulls you away like that, you've got to be more than just a TV news junkie." She patted his hand, "Now, tell me, about her…"

XXXXX

He could honestly say that he spent the night with Charmaine Greer. Sure he'd kissed her, sure, he'd felt her up, but when it came down to it, the sound of Carrie's voice shot down any thoughts he'd had of sex.

To her credit, Charmaine was happy to lay in bed with him and talk about their lives and loves. She told him honestly that she'd had more sex that she'd needed in her younger days and what she really craved was the physical contact, the arms to hold her in the night.

He was able to provide her what she truly needed and she in return helped him determine that what he truly needed was Carrie Hendricks.

By the time they woke, the airport reopened and they were able to schedule flights home. As he saw her off on her flight to New York, they exchanged cards and she made him promise that he would invite her to the wedding.

He laughed, walking back to board his own flight thinking about his night. Charmaine wasn't Hayley, but that didn't bother him. What bothered him was that she wasn't Carrie.

Maybe, he decided, it was time to stop trying to find someone to fill Hayley's shoes. Maybe, it was time to find someone that made him stop thinking about Hayley. Catching his reflection in the window, he found himself with a satisfied smile and realized that maybe, just maybe, he'd already found that person.


	6. Carrie Part 2

She wasn't Hayley and at the moment, Aaron Hotchner wasn't sure it even mattered. As a matter of fact, he could honestly say that from the moment he spotted her walking across the tarmac at Andrews Air Force Base, Hayley never crossed his mind.

After a week of watching CNN just to catch a glimpse of her crawling through the desert or a bombed out city in what he later discovered was Afghanistan, he was relieved to hear that she was on her way home. She'd shot him a short email when she returned to the Marine base, apologizing for ducking out, but hoping he'd caught her on TV. She told him she'd be home in a couple of days and would call him as soon as she had time to take a real shower and sleep in a real bed. He didn't want to wait that long.

He'd pulled a few strings and managed to find out when she was arriving, then pulled a few more and got clearance to pick her up on the base. All of it was worth it just to see her exhaustion turn into a bright smile when she saw him standing there. Well, that and the hug and kiss she'd planted on him.

He'd have made love to her right there on the tarmac if he could've, but instead, he spirited her off to a very exclusive Bed and Breakfast in DuPont Circle. She protested, telling him he didn't need to do it, that she'd be content anywhere that had a shower.

Once in the room, she disappeared into the bathroom, while he lit a fire in the room's fireplace and arranged to have dinner brought to their room. She ate dinner in the hotel's white terry cloth robe, with her hair hanging in long damp corkscrews. She apologized many times, but he wouldn't hear of it. Instead, he told her how beautiful she looked.

She laughed and blushed, saying, "I'm just kinda blown away by all of this."

"All of this?" he asked, watching as she sipped a glass of wine.

"You pulled all kinds of strings to find out where and when I landed, then take me here…" she stood, walked around the table and sat in his lap. Slipping her arms around his neck, she kissed him softly. "What was all this for?"

"I thought," he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, "That you've been in the middle of the desert for weeks and that you might like to spend the night somewhere nicer than a tent or an army barracks."

"Very thoughtful of you," she mused, loosening his tie. "And this is much nicer than either of those places." She pulled off his tie and tossed it across the room, kissing him again. She sat back and looked at him, "I bet that big old four poster bed is very comfortable. What do you say we check it out?"

She stood up and held out her hand. He stood, took her hand and allowed him to lead her to the bed. She slipped out of the robe, turned down the bed and lay on the crisp white sheets. "Are you going to stand there all night?"

"I thought you might like to get a good night's sleep," he said, knowing that she wouldn't buy his line.

"And I will," she returned, pulling him down and kissing him. "When we're done," she kissed him again.

There was something about the sound of her voice and the urgency of her actions that went straight to his libido. He stripped off his clothes quickly and joined her on the bed. Taking her in his arms, he pulled her close and studied her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her dark blue eyes looking up at him.

"Nothing's wrong," he said with a smile. He leaned down and kissed her, "This is much better than watching you on CNN."

"Wait," she said, taking him into her hand, "It gets better."

She stroked him as he kissed a trail from her lips down her throat, to her chest, and finally settled on a taut nipple. As his tongue flicked first one, then the other, she moaned, her back arching towards him, her hand stoking him with a steady rhythm. It didn't take long for her to bring him close to the edge. He took her hand and stopped her motion, causing her to look up with him.

"Aaron?"

He kissed her, "If you keep that up, I can't be held accountable for my reactions."

"That's okay," she smugly smiled.

"No, not this time, not this way…" he murmured, pressing his lips to hers as he leaned above her.

She gasped as he entered her, "Oh God, you feel so good…" she kissed him as he slowly made love to her. "I have a confession to make," she panted.

"Yes?"

"When I was in Afghanistan ... in my sleeping bag alone at night ... I imagined this ... I imagined you making love to me."

"You did?" he replied, increasing their rhythm.

"Yeah," she gasped. "And I have to say ... the reality is so much better."

He felt himself growing harder, if that were possible, and decided that now might be the time to make his own confession. "I thought about it too ... I'd watch you on CNN while I was lying in bed at night. I remembered how tight and sweet you were, couldn't help myself ...."

Reaching up, she slipped her hand behind his head and pulled his head down so their lips touched, "God, that's so erotic…"

He claimed her lips in a savage kiss, causing her to moan and grind against him.

"Aaron," she moaned, "I'm so close…."

At those words, he stepped up his game, kissing her again, meeting her grinding hips with a deep thrust that drove her over the edge and caused her to cry out. He followed her barely seconds later, resting his forehead on her shoulder while he got his bearings.

"Damn," she said, her breathing ragged. "That was…intense."

He smiled at her, "Intense fits."

He lay back onto the pillows and pulled her into his arms. As she settled her head on his chest, he kissed the top of her head

"I like coming home to you," she said, looking up at him with a content smile. "Was it worth calling in those favors to find out when I was coming home?"

"Well worth it," he nodded, then, quietly, "I meant what I said, Carrie, you were on my mind the whole time you were gone."

She propped herself up so that she could see his face, "So I'm guessing you didn't go out and see other people like I asked you to?"

He thought for a moment, wondering if he should tell her the story. Her smile and teasing voice pulled him from his thinking.

"There's a story there, isn't there?" she coaxed. "Tell me."

He told her the story of the snow storm at O'Hare Airport, all of it. She laughed when he told her about being star struck, and listened raptly while he detailed the rest of their night. After he admitted to her that the sound of her voice on the television caused him to lose all interest in a woman he'd lusted after for years, he found her with a knowing smile on her face.

She kissed him, and then proceeded to tell him the story of her encounter with Major Spencer McMahon of the USMC. She told him how she'd spent the first week in Afghanistan preparing with the troops to go out into the field. She'd hit it off with the attractive Marine Major and found herself very attracted to him.

The night before they left the base, she sat in the bar with Major McMahon, having one too many beers, and giving into the attraction. They'd made their way back to the large tent they'd set her up with and shared some very passionate kisses. She thought she could live by her own rules, thought that she could give into the feelings of passion, but when he moaned her name, she pulled away. Something wasn't right. It wasn't his voice. It wasn't that low tone of his that sent shivers up and down her spine.

She looked at him, "This is frightening. I mean really frightening."

"Why?" he asked, watching as she processed their revelations.

"We've really fallen for each other, haven't we?"

He had to laugh at her grave expression, "It sure looks like we have." He kissed her softly, "Is there something wrong with that?"

"So, where do we go now?"

"We're not going anywhere, physically, until tomorrow ... but if you want to go somewhere," he slyly said as he encouraged her hands downward, "you can go here."

She rolled her eyes and laughed, "You know what I mean, you horn dog!"

"I do," he laughed with her, then, softly said, "I guess we just keep going forward."

"And you think this can work?" she asked, warily.

"We've already outlasted your prediction," he shrugged. "I'd say we're ahead of the game."

"Well, then, I guess the relationship will be going forward," she decided, kissing him deeply. "Now, I believe you had some plans about our physical direction as well?

With a deep throated laugh, he rolled her back onto the pillows and leaned over her, "I've got all kinds of plans…"

And as he showed her his plans, he remembered that she wasn't Hayley. She was better than Hayley. She was Carrie. And she was his and Hayley didn't really matter that much any more.

**_Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, enjoying, and reviewing! When I started this, I never imagined it would go this far! Thank you to Susan, without her ideas, suggestions, and support this would NEVER have been written and to Annika for her support and ideas! Stay tuned for more of the relationship of Aaron Hotchner and Carrie Hendricks._**


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